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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27095677">Building Waves</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/SitWithMeInTheDark/pseuds/SitWithMeInTheDark'>SitWithMeInTheDark</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Congruence [5]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Aftercare, BDSM, Dom/sub, Established Relationship, Guys I finally finished it, Kink Discovery, M/M, Polyamory, Public Sex, Rutting, Snogging, Subs, Subspace, Voyeurism, Watersports, essentially, i guess, kink negotiations, little tiny bit, public urination, sub on sub</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-09 03:48:24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,937</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27095677</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/SitWithMeInTheDark/pseuds/SitWithMeInTheDark</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Draco discovers one of Harry’s kinks, previously unknown to Harry. It’s touch and go for a while… and then it’s just go, go, go.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Draco Malfoy/Original Male Character(s), Harry Potter/Original Male Character(s)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Congruence [5]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1375912</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>142</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. The First Time</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The following months taught Harry a lot about Draco. More than he would have expected.</p><p> </p><p>After sharing a school with the man for seven years, a war, and a rivalry, he was surprised there was much more to learn at all.</p><p> </p><p>Perhaps he should have known better.</p><p> </p><p>Harry learned about Draco’s kinks and fetishes and what made him shiver and moan, sure. But he also learned that, while officially unemployed, the former Slytherin had a knack for law, a passion for politics, a talent for finances and the keenest business sense Harry had ever encountered. You wouldn’t know he was jobless for how busy he kept his schedule: daily trips to the Ministry, various conferences and lunches and meetings, numerous investments he had to ‘check up on’ and other high-society functions that went right over Harry’s head.</p><p> </p><p>He also learned about Draco’s fondness for tradition, something Harry admittedly had no real appreciation for. But he didn’t mind humouring Draco whenever he dragged Harry along.</p><p> </p><p>One such ritual was his weekly Sunday lunch to a little French wizarding village somewhere north of Paris, where he would eat the same salad and ratatouille dish at the same little French restaurant, walk the same little cobble-stone path to the same little French bakery where he <em>never</em> got the same pastry twice.</p><p> </p><p>He’d been making the trip since he was a child, originally with his mother, and had done so so many times he no longer required a port-key to make it across the English Channel. He just Apparated, first to Hastings on the coast, and next directly into town.</p><p> </p><p>The first time he’d taken Harry side-along, Harry had thrown up in a ditch. It wasn’t strictly healthy to jump such large distances (let alone legal), but there Draco was, doing it every week anyway. (Evidently, port-keys were a hassle even to the ridiculously rich.)</p><p> </p><p>Tradition.</p><p> </p><p>Until one summer day, once again dragging Harry along, Draco’d decided he’d wanted an extra lemonade with his meal, and a second tea with his pastry. On their way back to the subtle corner they (traditionally) apparated to and from, Draco suddenly veered off into a shadowed alley, tugging Harry along without even stopping his tirade about the pros and cons of French fashion.</p><p> </p><p>The alley was narrow, borderline claustrophobic, crowded in parts than deserted in others. It wasn’t particularly long, but it only opened into the bright, sunlit street on one end, closed off with bricks on the other.</p><p> </p><p>Harry had let himself be pulled in without thought, not understanding why Draco had made the detour. They were just deep enough in to go unnoticed by a passerby when Draco let go of his wrist, still monologging about fringe or fabric cuts or something Harry couldn’t follow.</p><p> </p><p>Harry watched the other man take another three steps, confused and curious, than turn towards the blank brick wall and…</p><p> </p><p>Undo his trousers.</p><p> </p><p>In hindsight it was rather obvious. But maybe that’s why Harry reacted so strongly: suddenly overcome with nervousness bordering on panic, not knowing what to expect, not comfortable with their public (semi-public?) positioning and suddenly distracted by all those long-established associations. All of which was triggered by Draco <em>undoing his flies.</em></p><p> </p><p>“Draco?!” The other man kept talking, apparently adjusting his pants (he was still getting used to muggle clothing) where Harry couldn’t quite see. Looking around the alley he began to ask “What are you-”</p><p> </p><p>And well, <em>then</em> Draco stopped talking, and Harry could see <em>that.</em></p><p> </p><p>He could see Draco tip his head back, the stillness of his chest as he held his breath for a moment, the tension in his shoulders, his hips jutted forward, his calves under his loose, fitted trousers. Harry could have told anyone that Draco was a bit of a hedonist. Enjoyed the things he allowed himself to indulge in immensely. <em>Often</em> allowed himself to indulge. More and more all the time. He always took a moment to savour it: the first bite of chocolate pastry or french truffle, the first slide of wine down his throat, of whiskey on his tongue, the first slide of his cock up Harry’s arse, the first stark sting of the whip, the first brutal impact of the paddle, the first languid slide of tongue.</p><p> </p><p>The first wash of relief during a piss.</p><p> </p><p>Draco’s whole world shrank in the anticipation, dragging the moment out and heightening the rush. Harry had been watching <em>this</em> particular ritual closely, had learned to recognize the signs: the pause in his ever-going chatter, the expanding of his pupils, the way his breathing deepened. Draco made meals look indecent, made <em>this</em> look indecent. And Harry, watching from behind, could almost feel it: Draco’s hand loose around his prick, directing the line away and towards the wall, his other hand tucked into his waist-coat pocket, pulling the fall of his coat aside. He could hear the shallow, quiet moan Draco gave at the slide of liquid up his urethra, the subtle itching-sting as it pushed its way through and stimulated all those sensitive nerves. Tense because of the need, about to be satisfied.</p><p> </p><p>And then the break, the hiss and splash and drip. The push as Draco rocked back onto his heels, the release at the back of his neck before his head swung first back then forward, and the lessening tension, shoulders to feet, while he settled into the rush.</p><p> </p><p>Harry was accidentally immersed, distracted by the cut Draco’s figure against the darkened brick, the almost invisible line of piss protruding from his form and splattering against the wall.</p><p> </p><p>It’s just… he’d been so unprepared, so taken by surprise, by the scene unfolding, helplessly, in front of him, and the tangled, unidentifiable feelings filling him in response. He was rooted to the ground, frozen and shocked and all-around <em>completely</em> over-reacting.</p><p> </p><p>“What?”</p><p> </p><p>What?</p><p> </p><p>Draco was talking to him.</p><p> </p><p>And Harry was staring at his piss.</p><p> </p><p>Brilliant.</p><p> </p><p>He lifted his eyes to Draco’s face, now turned towards him, but couldn’t loosen any other part of his body still mentally stuck on the stream, the hiss, that continued in his peripheral.</p><p> </p><p>“Are you ok?” Draco asked.</p><p> </p><p>“Hmm?”</p><p> </p><p>“What were you saying?”</p><p> </p><p>The stream was slowing now, Harry might be staring again.</p><p> </p><p>“Harry?”</p><p> </p><p>Fuck.</p><p> </p><p>“<em>Harry</em>.”</p><p> </p><p>Quick as anything, it was over. Like time had slowed with the hiss and splatter of public urination and then caught up with itself. Draco’s flies were tightened, his clothes pulled to their correct positions and his body turned back towards Harry, already forgetting the wet, dripping stain he’d left on the wall behind him.</p><p> </p><p>Harry could have said so, <em>so</em> many things at this point. Maybe the fact that Draco’s technically just broken the law in front of an auror, or how he’d <em>told</em> him two teas and two lemonades in a single afternoon was pushing it for the apparition back home, or how a <em>warning</em> would have been nice, thanks.</p><p> </p><p>But he hadn’t rediscovered his legs or arms yet, let alone his mouth.</p><p> </p><p>“Harry? Seriously, are you ok? I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable, didn’t think… we had dorm-mates for seven years, and- Harry?”</p><p> </p><p>Draco was close again, right in front of him, concern on his face, mixed with confusion and hesitation and… fuck. Harry was still thinking about the puddle behind him. What was wrong with him?<br/><br/>“Oh.” That was different. Draco’s voice breathy and deep and quiet, his gaze on Harry, no… On Harry, but lower, eyelids drooping, mouth open, and tongue in his cheek.</p><p> </p><p>His eyes stuck on Harry’s crotch.</p><p> </p><p>His… tented… crotch.</p><p> </p><p>And- When did he get hard? <em>Why was he hard?</em></p><p> </p><p>Time was still acting weird.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m sorry. I didn’t know. I wouldn’t have… If I did.” Draco (thank Merlin) wasn’t staring at his dick anymore. The confusion was gone, leaving behind something that looked like sympathy and understanding and clearly Draco knew something Harry didn’t because he still had no idea. He felt a hand close gently on his wrist, “Hey, it’s ok. OK?”<br/><br/>Harry didn’t know what else to do, so he nodded, and tried to let go of some of the stiffness in his limbs. Then he took a breath and let Draco lead him home with another “ok.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. The Second Time</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>They didn’t talk about it.</p><p> </p><p>They probably should have talked about it.</p><p> </p><p>Actually that’s not entirely true, they <em>did</em> talk about… but, not with each other.</p><p> </p><p>Draco must have said something to either or both of the Doms, because Harry certainly hadn’t, and Josh sat him down one evening anyway to have a very awkward, stilted conversation that mostly consisted of questions Harry didn’t know the answers to.</p><p> </p><p>It’s not like kink was new to them, it’s just that this… was <em>this.</em> It felt different. More dangerous, strange and unpredictable. Perhaps for the first time since his foray into BDSM Harry had found himself fascinated and attracted to something he truly never expected of himself. All the discipline and orders and submission and sex, it had always been there, simmering somewhere under the surface. But piss? (Watersports, Josh told him.) He hadn’t expected this at all.</p><p> </p><p>It took him a couple weeks to wrap his head around, let alone talk about.</p><p> </p><p>He stopped going to France with Draco.</p><p> </p><p>Or, he tried to. Until Draco’s whining got ridiculous and the pureblood stopped taking no for an answer. But still, they didn’t talk about it. And they walked down the same little cobble street like nothing had ever happened.</p><p> </p><p>But Harry still watched the darkened alcove every time they passed it. Couldn’t stop himself, couldn’t turn away until it was already out of sight.</p><p> </p><p>Harry was hopeful enough to believe Draco hadn’t noticed, but not stupid enough to. Yet the blonde never watched Harry watch the alley, never turned obviously towards him ,or away from him, when they approached it, never paused in his walk, his speech or his gestures.</p><p> </p><p>But Harry saw something calculating in his eyes every time they turned towards each other to begin the double-apparition back, Draco’s hands on his arms and gazes locked. Grey eyes sparked and smouldered with some kind of understanding Harry himself didn’t possess.</p><p> </p><p>They went on like that for months.</p><p> </p><p>And then, Harry was reading in the sitting room one Sunday morning, tea at his elbow and Molly’s knitted quilt tucked in beside each knee, only paying half attention and awaiting Draco’s weekly storm-through-the-floo-and-demand-Harry’s-company-to-France-before-forcing-him-into-‘<em>appropriate</em>’-clothes-and-out-the-door. Draco fulfilled his Sunday ritual half past eleven, but stopped before entering the forced-dressing phase. Instead, he smoothly transitioned from goading-into-compliance to sitting down closely (warm-heavy-tight thigh pressed slightly on top of one of Harry’s) and placing a hand on Harry’s forearm before meeting his eyes. Draco didn’t wear ‘serious’ or ‘’compassionate’ very often, but when he did… well. He wore it well but that’s beside the point.</p><p> </p><p>“So I was thinking, maybe, if you want, it’s time.”<br/><br/>Harry was confused. His heart was trying to beat right out his chest and he didn’t know why.</p><p> </p><p>“Time?” He didn’t know why his voice was so weak either. (Josh would say Harry’s attraction to- <em>it doesn’t matter</em>.)</p><p> </p><p>“To try again. On purpose this time.”<br/><br/>Harry didn’t answer. He didn’t even move.</p><p> </p><p>Draco’s ‘compassionate’ wasn’t all that well practiced. He rolled his eyes. “I was <em>thinking,</em> maybe… I’m really thirsty today. And it’s a bit chilly, so an extra cup of tea after lunch wouldn’t be uncalled for…”<br/><br/>Harry… Harry had no idea what to say. What to think. He wasn’t thinking. He was just staring and trying really hard not to be scared. “<em>Breathe Harry</em>” (quiet, concerned, the compassion was back).</p><p> </p><p>“Ok.”<br/><br/>Had he spoken? It felt like he’d spoken. He had no more time to figure it out because Draco had jumped right back into forced-dressing and suddenly the day felt normal again. Why did the silence feel comfortable again? It hadn’t been… a minute ago. It didn’t matter. It <em>so easy</em> to just trust Draco to take him there. Easy, and terrifying. Harry clung (<em>Josh would say Harry’s denial…</em>) to the normalcy of a traditional Sunday and rode it right out.</p><p> </p><p>All the way out.</p><p> </p><p>Right out East and South and France and Salad and Two Glasses Of Water and Two Cups Of Tea and (Maybe Josh spoke to Draco after he spoke to Harry) and Little Cobble Stree-</p><p> </p><p>They stopped. And so did the normal.</p><p>
  <em>Fuck.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Harry wanted… Well, that’s the problem isn’t it? Harry doesn’t know what he wants. Is so desperate, and the panic’s saying ‘GoHomeNow’ and everything else is pulling him in different directions that all seem to inevitably end up in the back of that alley.</p><p> </p><p><em>That</em> alley.</p><p> </p><p>The one right in front of him. Right over Draco’s left shoulder.</p><p> </p><p>Draco’s left shoulder, left arm, left hand, holding Harry’s right…</p><p> </p><p>Right. (In… out, <em>breathe</em>).</p><p> </p><p>“What’s your safeword?”</p><p> </p><p><em>Fuck.</em> He wasn’t sure he was ready for this. This isn’t in the Contract. It’s not with a Dom, a <em>real</em> Dom. Josh <em>isn’t here. </em>Josh is <em>always</em> there. He needs a <em>Dom-</em></p><p> </p><p><em>Draco.</em> He has Draco. Draco who isn’t stupid or careless or ignorant. Draco, who sometimes knows him better than Josh. Draco who-</p><p> </p><p>“<em>Harry.</em> We aren’t doing this unless you focus. I need you to focus.” (In. Out.) “What’s your safeword?”</p><p> </p><p>What<em> was </em>his safeword?</p><p> </p><p>“Er- Ref.”</p><p> </p><p>“Good. <em>Don’t</em> forget it. Now, I need you to say it one more time. For real this time. Do you want to do this?”</p><p>Harry was still staring at the alleyway. <em>Focus.</em> Draco’s hands are both on his shoulders. He was showing ‘serious’ and ‘don’t push it’ and was probably getting desperate. He’d finished his second cup of tea forty minutes ago (<em>Merlin). </em>His eyes weren’t nearly as dark as they were stone-solid, desire all covered up by determination.</p><p> </p><p>“We can quit at <em>any point.</em> And you can use your safeword whenever you want, but you’ve got to say you want it.”</p><p> </p><p>It took Harry three inhalations to find the courage, and four exhales to push down the <em>panic-fear-uncertainty-denial,</em> he didn’t know much about what was happening, but he couldn’t deny the 16 points of pressure along his body pulling him <em>forward,</em> into the dark.</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah.”</p><p> </p><p>“Say it. For real.”</p><p> </p><p>He met Draco’s gaze (he kept looking away without meaning to) and “I want it.”</p><p>Draco took a step back. He didn’t let go of Harry’s shoulders. The street was empty. “I’ll check in yeah?” His voice was getting breathy. He stepped back. “If there’s anything you don’t want, tell me.” His eyes weren’t stone anymore. He stepped back. “If there’s something you <em>do</em> want, best tell me now.” Back. “But you can stop me at anytime.” Shadow fell and they left the sunlight in the street behind them. “I’ll go slow yeah?”</p><p> </p><p>And <em>Fuck</em>. It was like… Little French cobble street, tea and toast and icing staining the corner of Draco’s mouth, and all that bright happy normalcy. But they were stepping into this claustrophobic alleyway, hidden away in the middle of all that sunlight, dark and gritty and <em>dirty.</em></p><p> </p><p><em>Fuck, </em>but he wanted it. He wanted it because everybody ignores the small dark alley’s, and sometimes it feels like he’s lived his whole life in the grit and the dirt and the dark. He wanted it because some things <em>feel</em> like they should be against the rules but aren’t and some things he knows shouldn’t be but they are and either of those can feel good or bad and nobody <em>built</em> this system of morals or ethics or laws, normalcy or acceptance. It wasn’t done rationally. Even though it <em>should</em> have been, and people hurt and heal everyday because of it. Because nobody really follows the rules anyway.</p><p> </p><p>And he’s an <em>Auror</em>, for Godric’s sake, he <em>understands</em> the corruption of the systems they live by.</p><p> </p><p>He also understands the legality of public urination.</p><p> </p><p>It’s just…</p><p> </p><p>He never really was a rule follower. Has always been driven by something more obscure and more fundamental than that.</p><p> </p><p>And the other half of that fundamental obscurity is pulling him into that alley right along with Draco. Sun and grit.</p><p> </p><p>His back hits the brick wall when Draco gently pushes him into it. The cold is already seeping in, but the panic is gone. And when he looks up into hot grey eyes all he feels himself projecting is the same heat, the same knowing, the same <em>ready-for-it</em>. He knows it’s received when Draco smirks <em>that</em> smirk. The one that brings him right back to Hogwarts and green/red ties and watching each other too much to be justified by rivalry or suspicion.</p><p> </p><p>The kiss Draco plants on him is one of their better ones, less a manifestation of whatever power dynamic they’re exploring, less an extension of whatever kink they’re enacting, and more an expression of the excitement that’s suddenly jumping between them like electricity. It’s deep and rushed and a bit giddy and…</p><p> </p><p>Draco’s knuckles are already brushing across Harry’s stomach through his coat (Harry undoes it, wanting the extra layer between them gone). And by the time it’s open and forgotten, Draco’s sucking bruises into his throat and Harry looks down but can’t get a glimpse.</p><p> </p><p>“Draco.” His voice is rough, and far too deep.</p><p> </p><p>“Spread your legs.” The instruction is pressed into his skin, muffled and quiet and Harry almost misses it. Misses their meaning anyway. “If you want.”</p><p> </p><p>“What?” He’s panting. His body feels like it’s melting slowly. Overwhelmed by anticipation and sinking into submission instead. “Dra- Why?”</p><p> </p><p>“Slow.” He says, pulling at Harry’s collar and Harry still doesn’t understand. Only recognizes the echo of what Draco had reassured him earlier about <em>‘going slow’</em>but not quite making the connection.</p><p> </p><p>He does what he’s told anyway.</p><p> </p><p>Obviously.</p><p> </p><p>His cock is hard and rebelling against his zip and spreading his legs only makes him shorter, makes Draco loom more, makes the blonde place an arm on the bricks behind Harry, elbow above his shoulder and fist above his head and if the alley wasn’t claustrophobic before it is now.</p><p> </p><p>Except it’s good. Really, very good. And safe and close and warm and so, <em>so </em>exciting.</p><p> </p><p>“Wider” he says. And Harry does, back sinking into the brick. With one last suck, Draco leans back. The air that suddenly fills the space he’s left is cold but not dousing. And then it’s like Harry’s having flash backs to that Sunday so many weeks ago. Except this time he gets to <em>watch, </em>gets the view of the front and not just the back. Unrestricted to dark silhouettes and gaps in imagination<em>.</em> He’s not thinking about what’s going to happen next anymore.</p><p> </p><p>He’s thinking about Draco’s prick soft and unassuming, now open to his line of sight, hanging out over the opening in his flies (no pants, typical) and under the shirt, tucked in, tails like open curtains tucked into his loose trousers. He’s thinking about the same posture Draco took last time, is taking now, loose and relaxed and almost blissful, with an undercurrent of anticipatory tension. Feet shoulder width apart, shoulders stiff, neck long and head tilted slightly back, hips jutted forward.</p><p> </p><p>But there are differences too. The way he’s angled towards Harry, and not just the wall. The way his hooded eyes aren’t closed, but glued on his. His lips swollen and red thanks to the attention he’d paid on Harry’s still-wet-and-tingling neck. Tongue pressing into the point of his canine, slipping between his teeth, eager in arousal. His coat is open, long and framing his already lean body, narrow hips. Hair like it’s glowing in the dark, falling into his eyes.</p><p> </p><p>Harry’s <em>not</em> thinking about the discomfort of his position, legs wider than natural, cock straining and desperate, back cold, neck stiff. He doesn’t notice these things.</p><p> </p><p>He’s entirely focused on Draco asking, “Ready?” and Harry really should ask for clarification. He doesn’t need to though. “Slow, remember? Just like last time. But this time…” He smirks, “Front row seat.” His hand goes to his cock.</p><p> </p><p>He aims.</p><p> </p><p>And Harry is suddenly and frighteningly unprepared, he-</p><p> </p><p>He’s watching Draco take a breath like he’s about to say something more. Close his eyes like <em>finally</em>, and his head tilts back more. What little tension had remained in his body moves to his hips which twitch forward.</p><p> </p><p>And his mouth opens like sex, forehead wrinkled like pleasure, throat moves like a moan that never makes it to the surface.</p><p> </p><p>And then Harry can <em>hear</em> it. Hiss and splash and drip.</p><p> </p><p>The mouth of the alley is fifteen feet away, glowing like the light at the end of a tunnel.</p><p> </p><p>Like an exit.</p><p> </p><p>No one ever wants to be here without leaving.</p><p> </p><p>No one but them.</p><p> </p><p>He finds that old and practiced courage and looks down and-</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Shit.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>It’s fantastic, really. Magnificent. Colourless, but he can <em>smell</em> it. And fast, pushing out of the head of Draco’s prick like it’s under pressure, and it <em>is.</em> And the lighting isn’t good but Harry can imagine the way his slit is splitting open, sensitive and that stinging-itch as it bears down and lets go.</p><p> </p><p>He understands why Draco positioned him the way he did now. Legs wide to give way to the brick wall behind him, now wet and stained the way it had been last time. None of the spray hits him directly, but it’s a close thing. And every once in a while Harry thinks he can see the light reflect off and ricochet, the smallest drop of urine flinging off the wall and landing on the inseam of his jeans. The worn through patch over his knee. The corner of his crotch. He thinks he can feel it, wet and warm and so, <em>so</em> dirty.</p><p> </p><p>His mouth is dry. He hasn’t taken an even breath in twenty minutes and his fly is ready to break. He feels like he’s about to fall over. His hand is on Draco’s shoulder. He does’t know when he put it there.</p><p> </p><p>He can’t move, paralyzed and pinned and loving it.</p><p> </p><p>The stream slows. Draco steps closer and it ends. Theres a puddle under their feet and Harry almost can’t think about it without his legs giving out, which…</p><p> </p><p>He swallows, his eyes blink closed without his permission and the tension drains out of him, leaves him sinking further into the wall like bricks are compressible, he groans from it. The familiar, unidentifiable <em>ughhh</em> that’s sweeping through his body again, and again.</p><p> </p><p>Draco brings him back with a gentle pinch over his chin, thumb and crooked forefinger of his right hadn’t (not the one still holding his cock, (<em>not</em> as disappointing as Harry might have expected)). Harry opens his eyes, and Draco is looming again. Leaning in a kissing him just as deep and desperate as earlier. His tongue feels foreign and improper after what had just happened. What still is.</p><p> </p><p>“Hmm?” Draco hums the question, but Harry knows it well enough to translate <em>How’s that then?.</em></p><p> </p><p>He doesn’t answer it. Groans “I need to come” instead.</p><p> </p><p>Draco chuckles and says “I need to shake off."<br/><br/>And Harry’s mind screeches to a halt once again. His eyes open from when they’d closed form the kiss. Draco’s biting his lip, suppressing a smile, successfully, but Harry can see it at the corners of his mouth and the glint in his eyes. He want’s to ask but stops when Draco’s eyes flick down.</p><p> </p><p>Harry follows and almost loses strength in his neck from the slight tilt forward. Recovery’s going to take the rest of the day at this rate.</p><p> </p><p>Draco’s dick is still out. Not as soft as it had been, but still held loose in Draco’s left hand and still… Wet.</p><p> </p><p>He needs to <em>shake off.</em> He needs to—</p><p> </p><p>“Harry.” <em>God</em> he’s close. head tilted down beside Harry’s so their both looking at his cock, hair brushing Harry’s ear, voice quiet and rough and breathy, mouth just pressed to his cheek. “Can I clean off on you?” His head presses warm to Harrys temple.</p><p> </p><p>Harry’s legs <em>do</em> give out then. But only for a second, not enough to force him down, he bounces back and leans harder in to the bricks.</p><p> </p><p>He can still smell Draco, all down the wall, itching behind the shallow and sensitive curves of his knees, wet under their feet, clinging to the head of his hard and red prick. He’s chocking on his own saliva. His cock might be going numb. <em>Fuck. </em>He’s clinging to Draco’s waist and shoulder and didn’t even know it.</p><p> </p><p>“Harry?” Draco nudges his hips forward. His cock is less than an inch from his own, and Harry’s feet splash a bit when he moves them underneath him, closer to the wall. He’s never felt so crowded. Draco moves with him and for one insane second Harry feels like they’re dancing.</p><p> </p><p>Draco’s right hand has migrated to the nape of his neck and his nails scratch at the sensitive skin catch on the hair follicles. Harry can feel him breathing.</p><p> </p><p>He nods.</p><p> </p><p>And then he watches, frozen, as Draco shifts his weight (that’s all it takes, it should probably be harder then that, for the impact it leaves) and groans at the scratch of denim on his foreskin (must be like fire) and leaves those few rare drops of piss to sink into the cloth tight over Harry’s crotch. He feels the press and rub right through to his cock.</p><p> </p><p>Harry feels like he’s a hair’s pressure away from coming. Has never jumped so fast so many times between absolute indolence and tension.</p><p> </p><p>Because Draco has never been one for self-control and tends to fall on the indulgent side of hedonism, it isn’t surprising when he continues the grind forward. Descending on Harry, reattaching his mouth to his throat, curling his arm around Harry’s neck to pillow his head when harry leans back once more. Draco’s leg slips between his, and Harry tries to focus on what colour his piss might turn the expensive leather of his loafers but is distracted by the hand tight on his hip and the desperate satisfaction of Draco’s hips pushing hard into his stomach, thigh wedged into his cock. The rhythm he starts up is slow and forceful and <em>perfect.</em></p><p> </p><p>“Salazar, I bet I can make you come just like this. Won’t even undo your trousers, bet you’re dying, cock stuck behind your zip. So desperate. <em>Fuck</em> Harry, you should have seen your face. Never seen you so lost in it. So consumed. So desperate. You looked a second away from falling to your knees and begging.” Harry feels a tongue, hot and wet, slide up his throat to his ear. Then teeth biting, harder than a nip, on the lobe. Harry might be moaning, he’s not sure. There’s static in his ears. “You don’t have to beg though. Not ever. No need. I’ll give it to you. Whenever, whatever. I don’t mind. I love it. <em>Shit.</em>” And harry is <em>falling</em>. <em>Screaming</em>. Completely silent.</p><p> </p><p>Harry doesn’t know when he comes. Is so blown away by the orgasm that he looses track of when or why or how it began, doesn’t remember the rush or the pleasure, just the unspeakable relief and satisfaction. The way his bones seem to settle as the serotonin seeps into his veins. Can’t tell if it’s moments or minutes later when he registers the wet around his prick, stuffed into his jeans, and thinks <em>wet</em>, and then remembers it’s not that kind. Draco has evolved from rutting against Harry’s stomach to wanking off on his shirt. He’s still going, but only just barely, when Harry realizes what the movement over his abdomen is. Is awake enough to be annoyed about the splatter on his shirt just before it happens.</p><p> </p><p>It takes them minutes to recover.</p><p> </p><p>Draco shifts from breathing into his neck to kiss into his mouth and mutters “We’re doing that again” with an assurance he hasn’t quite earned. And Harry glances at the bright end of the alley and remembers their in public with a start. Draco finally manages to put himself away and begins his slightly pompous routine of clean up. Steps back as he says “Let’s get you home, I’m not nearly as good at aftercare as the Doms are.”</p><p> </p><p>Harry is reaching for his wand when Draco stops him with a smirk. “Do up your coat” he says. And Harry hears ‘<em>leave the mess’</em> before he blushes right to his roots.</p><p> </p><p>He does up his coat. And they walk the short way to the apparition point, piss on their shoes, and Harry with two loads of semen seeping into his clothes.</p><p> </p><p>He’s hard again by the time they get home to the Dom’s on the couch, and cuddles and praises and Draco re-telling the story in really extremely explicit detail and Harry hiding his face in Josh’s shoulder. He comes two more times before a shower and bed. And he doesn’t have the mental energy to think about what next time might be like.</p>
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<a name="section0003"><h2>3. The Third Time</h2></a>
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    <p>The third time it happens, it happens only a week later.</p><p> </p><p>On this Sunday, warm and welcoming, Draco drags Harry to France and Harry watches him drink two lemonades and two cups of tea and this time he thinks he knows better what’s going.</p><p> </p><p>This time he blushes a little less. Focuses a little more. Manages to keep his head a little longer.</p><p> </p><p>Josh had him practice saying it out loud. Only when it’s just the two of them at home, cuddling and talking and taking comfort in one another, the way doms and subs do. He has Harry repeat it over and over again, asks him questions he now knows the answers too, but still struggles to say aloud. ‘<em>I want it,’ ‘Watersports,’ ‘Piss Play,’ ‘I want it,’ 'I loved it.’</em> He is <em>very</em> well rewarded when he gets through it all without stuttering.</p><p> </p><p>This time, the afternoon speeds by in a second, and Harry finds himself back in front of that alley without really having time to prepareor think about it.</p><p> </p><p>Draco asks again if he wants it, tells him to repeat his safeword, pulls Harry in slowly, with plenty opportunity to change his mind. He snogs Harry as he pushes him once again into the brick wall. Draco undoes his flies while Harry undoes his coat, and they snog a little more.</p><p> </p><p>Harry’s quivering with anticipation, but isn’t sinking into confusion or panic or submission the way he did the last two times.</p><p> </p><p>Well, not yet anyway.</p><p> </p><p>It’s better. Being able to focus on the way Draco’s just as tense with anticipation without breaking the kiss. Noticing the light filtering into the alley and the colour of Draco’s coat. Wondering what exactly it is Draco has planned.</p><p> </p><p>Wondering why there are fingers undoing his flies.</p><p> </p><p>He jumps, pulling his head away from Draco’s lips and hitting it rather roughly on the brick. “What-.”</p><p> </p><p>“Shh. Ok?”</p><p> </p><p>Ok with what? Harry once again has no idea what’s going on. “Draco.”<br/><br/>“It’s just that the wall is so cold and hard and unreceptive. I thought I might appreciate somewhere a little warmer to… let go.”</p><p> </p><p>Sometimes Harry hates Draco’s tendency to speak in abstracts as much as he loves it. Knows Draco can be unbearably explicit when it suits him but enjoys watching Harry while he puts it all together and realizes what it is Draco wants. Harry wants.</p><p> </p><p>“Jesus.” He doesn’t use muggle swears often, knows they give him away. Can’t help it at the moment though.</p><p> </p><p>“Breathe.”</p><p> </p><p>He breathes.</p><p> </p><p>Then he thinks. Tries to. Imagines what that might feel like. Wonders if it’d be good. Or better…</p><p> </p><p>And then he nods.</p><p> </p><p>Draco asks if he’s sure once more. (“<em>Yesss</em>.” with his head tipping back, eyes closed.) And not again after that.</p><p> </p><p>And then he’s close. So ridiculously close that Harry’s brain is already anticipating lube and fingers and penetration because that’s what being this close leads to but it’s not. It’s new a different and uncomfortable in the best way.</p><p> </p><p>He really is so fucking grateful Draco’s so much taller than him. This kind of activity benefits so much from the improved angle.</p><p> </p><p>He looms. And Harry clutches at his arms while Draco gets everything in place. His flies are undone, his pants pulled down just past the root of his cock, hard and restricted, and then Draco’s is in there with his. Warm and soft and familiar and so, <em>so </em>close.</p><p> </p><p>Draco buries one hand in Harry’s hair, sets his lips on top of Harry’s ear and asks <em>ready</em>?</p><p> </p><p>“No.”</p><p> </p><p>Draco chuckles.</p><p> </p><p>“Safeword?”</p><p> </p><p>“No.” He says it on a sigh. Accepts his fate, though unprepared he may be.</p><p> </p><p>And then Draco sighs too. And Harry can hear it so close in his ear, can <em>feel</em> the tension leak out of him, the twitch of his hips, the clench of his muscles, <em>pushing</em>. The pleasure of relief is so potent, it seeps right out of Draco’s skin and into his.</p><p> </p><p>And then warm. So warm, Harry doesn’t realize it’s wet for a second. And then it is. And by then it’s already made it’s way most of the way down his leg. And then the other one too. And then it’s spreading up to his hips and back to his arse and prick is just soaked. Harry can feel the rivulets, and then he can hear them two. Almost silent splashing on the pavement beneath him, the wall behind him, his legs and jeans and the small dark, warm paces between them.</p><p> </p><p>It really is so very warm. Like bath water, or a perfect cuppa. And it’s cooling quickly and the shock of temperature change only serves to rile him more and it must show because Draco moans. The vibrations sinking into his hair and scalp and skull and Harry would kiss him so good if he could just gain control over his body.</p><p> </p><p>He can’t. All he’s thinking about is the hot-cold-wet-dry-hard-soft sensations absolutely steeping him. He’s dizzy with it. Can fucking smell the thing.</p><p> </p><p>Draco moans again, the stream (hiss, smell) is slowing, and then there’s a laugh.</p><p> </p><p>Light and distanced and definitely coming from the cobble street to their right.</p><p> </p><p>Draco, quick as those whips he loves so much, places a hand over Harry’s mouth and under his nose and Harry thinks he could get out if he wanted to but doesn’t. They’re shrouded in shadows and so close no one could see anything even if they were standing right beside them and silently, invisibly, they watch two women pass beyond the sun-lit opening of the alley, completely unnoticed.</p><p> </p><p>Draco’s not pissing anymore. Harry’s shaking from the scare as well as the chilling wet he’s covered in.</p><p> </p><p>He’s <em>rock</em>, <em>fucking,</em> <em>hard</em>.</p><p> </p><p>They listen as the women’s voices fade, and then Draco’s kissing him again, and Harry doesn’t feel so cold anymore. His throat’ll be mottled before they’re done. The dizziness doesn’t go. All army can feel is the wall he’s sinking into, the body sinking into him.</p><p> </p><p>Draco catches his eye and must see the subspace Harry’s fallen into once again because he says “Come on. Let’s get out of here.” And then there are arms and a pop and another. There’s the bed and warming charms and all their clothes on the floor. There’s rutting and clutching and panting and absolutely nothing else.</p><p> </p><p>And then come and again and finally they still. Skin damp with piss and sweat and seamen. The doms come by. Harry recognizes sinking into a bath and falling asleep between two strong. reliable bodies and doesn’t wake for hours afterward.</p>
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